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Besides, it wasn’t so long ago that your healing abilities weren’t up to speed. Maybe you’re still having some trouble.”
Zan didn’t seem to take offense to that suggestion, but he was insistent. “I assure you, my healing is right on target again. The cells in Micah’s body weren’t knitting as quickly as they should have been, even after a demon attack. They needed a lot of coaxing to re-form, more than usual for one of us. I just think it bears watching, that’s all.”
“All right.” She sighed, her tension palpable. “Thanks, my friend. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me. I want to see him well as much as anyone.”
Humiliation crept through Micah. He loved them for caring, but hated being a burden. Hated lying flat on his back when he was supposed to be stronger than his problems. A protector. But at the moment, it didn’t matter that he loathed his situation, because his body was doing its job. Shutting down, forcing him to rest whether he wanted to or not.
Exhaustion claimed him. And in seeped the nightmares.
“Bring him this way.”
Micah stumbled along the dim corridor, held between the two big guards. Fear clogged this throat. He knew where they were going. What they were going to do to him this time?
He’d resisted so far. Each time, the doctor upped the stakes. Pushed his mind and body further. Withheld food and water. Tortured him nearly beyond endurance, What more could they do to him? Nothing but kill him. That would be a blessed relief.
In the dark chamber, there were two shifters waiting. Unkempt hair hung over their round, frightened eyes, and their bodies were unwashed. One was chained on a concrete slab over a drain. The other, bolted to the stone wall, faced his companion, spread-eagle.
This was a new game their captors were playing. A chill of trepidation raced along his spine as he watched Dr. Bowman stride forward, a small smile on his face.
“Ah, Micah. Welcome. Let me introduce you to Parker and Tyler. Parker is there,” Dr. Bowman said, pointing to the shifter positioned over the drain.
Dread grew in Micah’s chest, settling like a lead weight. Whatever game Bowman was playing, it didn’t bode well for any of them. Especially when the doc and his goons had always referred to their captives by number—until now. He had a terrible suspicion that Bowman had moved on to the next stage of his plan to turn him into a killing machine, someone who wouldn’t let personal details like names interfere with his objective.
He had no idea at the time how right he was.
“Micah,” Bowman went on pleasantly, “it’s time for you to earn your keep. Your strength will make you one of my top enforcers. You’re going to teach Parker his place in the hierarchy among shifters.”
“Teach him, how?” Micah asked cautiously.
“Starting with this.”
With a flick of Dr. Bowman’s hand, a guard stepped forward, holding a bullwhip. The guard presented it to Micah, who stood staring at it as though it was a venomous snake.
“You . . . you want me to whip him with that?”
“Yes, and you will.”
Glaring at the doctor in hatred, he spat, “What makes you think for one second I’ll do what you say?”
“This.”
Another guard stepped from the shadows, dragging a slender woman with long, thin blond hair. No, not a woman. The female shifter was barely more than a girl, perhaps not even twenty years old. She cried out piteously as the guard slapped her hand onto a wooden block and grabbed an ax.
“You comply, or she loses body parts. One by one.” Bowman smiled.
Bile burned Micah’s throat, and black rage consumed his heart. But he grabbed the whip and let the coils unfurl.
And he turned to Parker, regret tearing at his soul.
Two
“Jacee, where’s my fuckin’ beer? Did ya have ta grow the damn hops first?”
Jacee Buchanan groaned, dodging patrons while balancing her tray of drinks, and resisted the urge to dump the whole thing right on top of Clyde’s stupid head. She hated the exaggerated way he drew out the pronunciation of her name—Jaay-CEEE—making it more singsong-y the drunker he got.
“I’m coming, you shithead!”
